Page 77 of Fire and Icing

“Can they change the rules on us midway like that?” I ask Emberleigh quietly.

She nods.

At least all the contestants are in the same situation. We’re all going to be challenged to complete this round with the same easeand precision we would have had if our baking partner were able to do the decorating and we could see what we were doing.

They give us a few minutes to regroup. Once we’re back on camera, production crew members walk around and hand blindfolds to all the non-baking partners in the room. The countdown clocks are reactivated and we’re back in go-mode, only this time I’m the one front and center, and Emberleigh’s the one guiding me through each step of the process.

I slip the blindfold on, momentarily regretting every life choice that led to this situation.

Emberleigh places a scooped-out cupcake in my left hand.

“Here’s the piping bag,” she says, holding it out.

I feel around for it, grab it and poise it over the cupcake.

“Dustin,” Emberleigh says. “You're holding it upside down.”

“I can’t be.”

“Why are you already covered in marshmallow?” Her voice is amused.

“Already? Man, I'm good at this, aren’t I?”

Emberleigh fixes the bag and coaches me through filling cupcake after cupcake.

“Did I mention how much I’m loving being your partner right now?” I tease her.

She nudges me with her hip. “Dustin, be serious.”

“I am serious. Very serious.”

She makes a tsking sound and then says, “Let’s get back to work.”

“I’m all yours,” I tell her.

If only. The more time I spend with her, the less it makes sense to fake this relationship. Why can’t we just date? I like her—a lot. She seems to like me. If the way she was clinging to me in her sleep is any indication, her subconscious is on board with something far more than friendship. Now isn’t the time to push.Emberleigh needs to focus on the contest. Once we win and we’re back in Waterford, I’ll make my move.

“Okay, next,” she says, handing me another cupcake.

The couple in front of us argues all the way through their baking process.

Emberleigh leans in and whispers, “Thank you for not being difficult.”

The place on my ear where her breath skittered along my skin hums after she pulls back. I swallow the newly formed lump in my throat and manage to say, “No problem. I’m here for you.”

The room’s chaotic, but we’re in our own bubble.

Emberleigh swaps out the piping bag holding the filling for the frosting bag. Once I’m poised to frost, she says, “Now pipe a swirl on top. Gently.”

“Define ‘gently.’”

“Like ... like you’re petting a kitten.”

“I’ve never piped a kitten.”

I hear her choke back a laugh. That’s a win.

My swirl lands … I think. “Nailed it,” I say proudly.

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